Inquisitor
by trapt-tage
Summary: Oneshot. A sterile environment is a perfectly appropriate setting for the clinical examination of minds. axelzexion?


Disclaimer: I don't own KH.  
AN: Written for the theme of "Bull's Eye." Confusing? Eh, I like it enough.

* * *

One chair. The gap, though always at first appearing small, was adequate. Another chair. Opposing. Playing centerpieces to an otherwise worthless living space.

The way the room was set up reminded him-- consistently, every time he walked in --as if it were set in waiting for a scientist, an examiner, to walk in, take a seat in a chair, and raise his eyebrows at the seat opposite in expectance of the soul that would splatter all over the floor before it. Axel hated the thought that he was no longer so much a stranger to this room as he had once been, as he knew he had nothing to show for it: this room, in all it's sterile familiarity, remained a stiff stranger to him.

The chair was filled. He had pretended not to notice. The few seconds of silence was customary. The sound of his foot slipping past the threshold, into the real territory-- into the zone --began the sequence.

"You won't come have a seat?"

There it was. The cocking of that eyebrow. The one he had been waiting for, the one he had known the entire time was going to go up. It always would.

Axel came. Had a seat. He always would.

Everything was slow in that room. His feet were heavy, the echoes were leaden. Every sound out of synch, in that room.

Had he shut the door?

The lips twitched as if they wanted to form words, but what could want being said intensely enough to break its bounds? It was customary to let the words wait. There wouldn't be room enough to breathe if not. Axel slouched awkwardly in his chair, trying to casually push back, widen the gap, give some space.

Bolted to the floor. He'd forgotten about that.

Nothing ever escaped the notice his observer, however. Every humiliation marked with a check in the little black book of Expectation.

They came now. Now that Axel could tell some role of his had been fulfilled.

"Anything?"

"Nothing."

"_Still_?"

"Still."

A break. They breathed. He'd never look away.

"What do you expect, then?"

"Nothing."

"…You expect nothing?"

"I have no expectations."

Where to take it next? He stared forward, leaned back. Steady eyes, never wavering. A banner of faith. Axel brought himself forward. Who to speak?

Axel minded the white. It was forever self-healing, forever welcoming the lacerations. Always the perfect stage to stain.

"They'll begin soon."

Axel thought a moment. Half a moment. He had a quarter moment left. Had that been his own voice?

"Yes, soon."

They always agreed. What matter was it whose voice it had been?

"What plan will you follow? When they begin?"

Axel thought a moment. He couldn't have asked. So he must answer. Unless he had truly wanted to know. Then he'd have asked.

He thought too long, a moment then two. It's over now, take a break. Breathe. He'll never look away. Axel could feel the stare boring into him, expecting something. He wouldn't still be waiting for an answer. That conversation was over. He was just watching now, taking in as much information silently than if he opened his mouth and asked aloud. He would always get to the bottom of it, under every last layer. He would falter only under direct sunlight or physical contact.

Axel thought about that. Another moment gone. It would be dangerous to lose focus.

"When they stage their uprising, _what will you do_?"

Deliberation. He spoke slowly. Or maybe that was the distortion.

"…What?" Focus.

Axel watched those facial features, some sort of language far from translatable, as humour fell like masks, as if levels of personalities were dropping from the dead. One more time, right? It'll be worth it to ask just once more. Give another chance.

"What, _Axel_, will your course of action be when the threat of rebellion within the Organization is realized?"

It was a failure. Axel thought and blinked; it was his loss this round.

"_Axel_. Do you have a thought in your head? Do you remember nothing ever? Responsibility isn't a game."

He wanted to stand. There was nothing to be content with this way. Not this game, not this floor, not this question. Axel could feel his boots, hard against the tile, not budging, while he could still feel the irritated gaze laying over him. Did he remember anything? Who? Axel remembered quite a good bit of forgotten, abandoned nonsense. All the beginnings. The first times. The wonder-how-and-why's.

All the pretend emotions, all the times they had tried, all the everythings that had never worked. It was business now? Now business required memories? Now he had a duty? A responsibility?

Axel could even remember which question he actually wanted to answer.

"Get out." Axel wanted, no matter the facts, to see blue eyes blink and shy. "This is my room."

Among complaints, all doused in sarcasm, he stood. Quite a meeting, to have accomplished nothing, but to have forgotten everything.

Axel remembered all of it, every time. Every layer of control, every tactic of manipulation. He remembered every plan he had already formulated.


End file.
